


In Your Likeness

by Missfoxymittens



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alcohol, Drinking, F/M, Falling In Love, Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers, Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Old Friends, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Pining, Rating May Change, Romance, Self-Hatred, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Viera Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:35:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28533774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missfoxymittens/pseuds/Missfoxymittens
Summary: In all of his sacrifice, had the Exarch not dreamt of having this again? He knew the stakes at hand. He knew that at the end of all of this, he needed to be a faceless enigma that bears the first’s light when Cirene was no longer able. It’ll be easier to say goodbye to a new friend. He had told himself. Easier to let you save them. Yet still, any easy smile played on his lips, his body at ease as they approached the Pendants. He wasn’t entirely the Crystal Exarch at that moment. G’raha Tia slipped out just enough to bask in her glory.I don't want to leave.
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light, Haurchefant Greystone/Warrior of Light
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24





	1. The Spark - Igniting

The view of the night sky was more beautiful than he remembered it being a century ago. Stars glittered alight in cosmic brilliance, their pattern indiscernible yet wholly perfect to himself as well as his city. The Crystarium’s celebration of the darkness made Lakeland come alive after a century of suffering. Parents watched their children dance under starlight, friends shared old stories of what their grandsires told them as babes, and lovers snuck away to quieter quarters to create memories at the twilight of a new beginning. 

_I knew she could do it._

The Crystal Exarch felt as if his breast might burst with joy. To have everything fall so neatly in place was a relief and a welcome success. Hope was something the Crystarium thrived on, but success? Victory made the entire city positively electric. Yet, in all of that electricity, he couldn’t spot the one soul he felt would be the night’s conductor; his – no – _the_ Warrior of Darkness. 

His hooded gaze poured over the crowd within the Wandering Stairs in search of the deep violet of her nearly lilac Viera ears. In all of the places he expected her to be, this would be it – given the loud and alive nature of it – however, she was nowhere in sight. 

“Looking for Cirene, Crystal Exarch?” Alphinaud asked at his side. As to when the young Elezen approached him, the Exarch wasn’t sure.

“Ah, Master Alphinaud, ever observant. I was hoping she’d be celebrating with the rest of the residents after all we’ve been through today.” 

Alphinaud shifted his weight and brought his hand to his chin, lost in thought and eyes scanning the crowd.

“If I had my guess,” Alphinaud started, “she’d be somewhere quiet. Cirene is particular about crowds.” 

The Exarch’s brow furrowed.

“Truly? In all of my study of the Warrior of Light before summoning her here, I would have thought she was a lively sort.” 

“Yes, well, that’s the Warrior of Light. Cirene herself is a touch different from the tall tales you read about in your research.” Alphinaud chuckled before glancing over his shoulder towards the Exedra. “Might I suggest the Cabinet of Curiosities? If no one is there and the door is unlocked, she’s likely fireside.”

_Really? Interesting._

“I see. With that in mind, I must beg your pardon Master Alphinaud – I shall take my leave to find her.” The Exarch bowed his head and took his leave as Alphinaud bid him goodnight. 

While the aether of the Crystarium was positively buzzing, the night itself ignited a peace within the Exarch that he hadn’t felt in decades. Crickets chirped in the gardens and fireflies that were once never seen floated in the breeze like tiny lanterns. It made the walk to the Cabinet of Curiosities a calming one, and with so little people in this wing of the city; perhaps Alphinaud was right. 

The Cabinet smelled of aging paper, ink, and woodsmoke as the Exarch crossed its threshold, his footsteps echoing on the metal grating. His gaze swept the entrance in search before his ears picked up the crackling of the great hearth under the main level of the cabinet itself. While dangerous around the tomes above, the hearth provided warmth and respite to the scholars, provided they returned their books to the stacks when done. It was a soft glow in the cabinet’s basement, though one not open to the public.

Descending the stairs, the Exarch turned his attention to the two great wingback chairs facing the fire with a small end table nestled between them. On it sat a filled crystal decanter with a matching low ball glass, an index finger idly tapped its edge. Two violet tipped ears peeked over the top of the chair and twitched at the sound of his footsteps.

“Sorry, Moren, I didn’t know if this place was off-limits this time of night.” Cirene’s voice called out from the chair in a neutral tone, confirmed by her person that made no motion to rise and greet her company.

“I think Moren would be delighted that you’re spending time here at all.” The Exarch replied. 

Cirene leaned over to peer around the side of the chair, eyes sizing him up as he approached with a bored expression. 

“I suppose so.” Cirene leaned back as the Exarch rounded the corner of the other empty chair, his remaining hand gripping its top edge. _So beautiful._ He thought. _Firelight always became her._

“Mind if I take a seat?” 

Cirene nodded and gestured to the seat next to her before grabbing her glass. Her deep violet eyes watched him settle in his chair before returning to the fire, the edge of the glass ghosting her bottom lip. She’d shed the more encumbering pieces of attire; keeping the well-worn bodysuit she had arrived in save for the matching garters and leather boots that covered the majority of her legs. 

An orange glow from the fire reflected off of her nearly lilac hair. _Nearly lilac,_ The Exarch considered. _That’s what Lyna called it._ Iridescent waves and curls gathered lazily over her shoulders and back before deepening into rich, inky violet, her usual ponytail likely forwent the second she hit her apartment door.

_Nearly lilac, yet something darker._

A whip-crack of the logs broke the spell holding him over, bringing to light the uncomfortable lingering silence he had manifested in his idling stare. The Exarch fidgeted and got a flash of a new emotion to the Warrior of Darkness’ expression, something he couldn’t quite place. 

“Not out enjoying the night sky with your city?” She asked, a half-hearted smile ghosting her lips as she took a sip from her glass, ice chattering against its edges as she tipped it back.

“No, I’m a bit too old for such festivities. Though, I suppose I could ask you the same question.” 

“So it’s my city now?” 

“Is it not your home for the time being?” The Exarch asked as he propped his staff up against the edge of the chair. 

“Not entirely by choice,” Cirene replied as she clinked her glass onto the table. The remark slapped the wrist of his ego and made him wince. 

“Right, my apologies! I-I just mean...” His crystal arm rubbed insistently at the straps wrapping around his hand of flesh. That’s right; he had brought her here – all of them here – against their will. Albeit for the betterment of both of their stars, it was well within her rights to loathe every ilm of him. It would be easier that way, wouldn’t it? 

_Whatever helps a dying man sleep at night._

“Relax, Exarch! I was only joking, well, kind of.” She reassured him, crossing one leg over the other. “What I mean to say is, it’s fine. There are arguably worse ways to heed the call. No need to fret on my behalf.” 

The Exarch calmed his nervous tugging at his straps, though the air between had morphed into something uncomfortably awkward. _Had I overreacted? Did I give myself away?_ A pop from the fireplace and the clink of melting ice filled the space between them before she continued.

“Though, to answer your question, I don’t get many quiet moments; best to take them when I can.” 

The Exarch pondered this for a moment. “True,” He started. “But in all of my studies of your history from the source, you’ve always been described as, ah, a bit of a lively sort.” 

Cirene laughed; its silvery echoes bounced off the bookshelves around the two of them and set the Exarch alight; ears twitched under the heavy hood of his deceit. 

“When I was a younger woman, sure, but now?” She clicked her tongue and looked past hooded face. “I guess you could say I’m a bit too old for such festivities.” 

The Exarch frowned, though a deflection from her wasn‘t a surprise. Since her arrival to the first, Cirene had been elusive to everyone who called the Crystarium home. Only after retrieving Alisaie and Alphinaud did anyone see a genuine smile from her – the Exarch least of all. Everything before their retrievals had been out of biting courtesy; all false-ringing agreements and threats dipped in demands. 

Sitting at the fire like this was the most relaxed she’d been in his company thus far. 

“Forgive me,” the Exarch started, “but what kind of woman are you now then?” 

Her eyes sharpened under his question as a grin ghosted her expression.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

_Wicked white._

“Mayhap I do.”

Wood scraped against the floor as Cirene scooted her chair to face his, her gaze tried in vain to pierce through the anonymity of his hood. 

“How about a deal?” She asked.

“Pardon?” 

“You heard me – a deal.” Cirene paused. “Whenever I’m here not slaying Lightwardens, you tell me something you’ve heard about me, and then I’ll tell you whether it's true or not.” 

“You’ll tell me everything, just like that?” The exarch asked, skepticism clear in his voice.

“Sure, why wouldn’t I? I’d rather at least one star have the right of me, and it might as well be the person who already knows so much about me.” She reached a slender hand out between them. “What do you say?” 

Yes.

“I-I don’t,” He stammered, crystallized fingers fidgeted with the folds of his robes. Tempting as it were, the Exarch knew that it would be the best for both of them if he said no. He needed to keep things professional. It was better that way. “I don’t want to distract you from your duties as the warrior of darkness, and I need to focus on getting you and yours home.” 

Violet eyes bore holes into the fabric of him.

“You hesitated.” 

I know.

“N-no I merely-“

“You won’t distract me,” she interrupted, hand nudging forward insistently, “and you said you’d figure out our return one way or another. So, let’s pass the time.”

 _This could destroy you, destroy everything you’ve worked for, but isn’t she worth it? Hasn’t she always been?_ The thought tugged at his heart in equal parts desire and denial.

And yet his crystal hand reached out and shook hers, though the feeling of her hand in his was an echo of what it would be if he had used his living one. Cirene’s easy smile crinkled her eyes and brought dimples to her cheeks – absolutely genuine. 

“Excellent! Well then,” She beamed, “my newfound chronicler, what do you wish to know first?” 

Quite the question, given he thought he knew all he could about her and knew little. He could ask about any of the eikons, the courageous battles that had become song on the source. Or he could ask about the Ala Mhigo liberation and what it was like to stand up against Shinryu at the Royal Menagerie. There were plenty of places to start, but a question nagged at him like an itch behind the ear.

“When did you stop liking parties? You must have liked them at a time.” The Exarch asked. 

Cirene inhaled as she leaned back into her chair, eyes scanning the stacks of bookshelves as she pieced together her answer. The action brought a memory to the Exarch’s mind. A younger Warrior, not nearly as skilled as she is now, staring intently at tent sides and horizons alike as she pondered her words. Ever careful, yet a loose cannon all the same in her temperament. 

_What parts of you remain unchanged by your destiny, Cirene?_

“Mm, I did once,” Cirene replied, her voice snapping him out of his thoughts. “Although I didn’t realize I wasn’t a fan of them anymore for quite some time.” 

Interested, the Exarch leaned forward in his chair. 

What parts of you are new to me?

“When did you know?”

With a half-laugh, Cirene took a moment to refill her glass. The strong caramel smell of well-aged corn liquor wafted from the decanter. 

“I guess it was in Ishgard.”

* * *

The bitter cold snapped at Cirene’s nose, wind whipping the flags at the Last Vigil something fierce. Warm lights illuminated the window panes of the four different high houses of Ishgard, with house Durendaire the most glittering that night. Noblemen and women idled in front of the manor, and the gentle melodies of a string quartet echoed into the night sky from its open doors. 

By all accounts, Cirene should be happy. The first real warm welcome from one of the other high houses besides house Fortemps, and yet the events of the day ate at her. She had rather unsurprisingly represented Alphinaud and Tataru in the trial by combat for their honor, but the Arch Bishop’s shocking admission to cavorting with the ascians left her uneasy. Tonight wasn’t the time for pleasantries and drinks, but rather for planning. The whole endeavor felt hollow. 

“I can’t imagine you’re enjoying the sights in this cold,” Haurchefant said as he strode up beside her, snapping Cirene out of her thoughts.

“I don’t know; the scenery just got better.” She replied with a wink, her hand reaching to find the warmth of his – it had always been warm. 

“Oy, that’s my line, warrior.” Haurchefant gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Though truly you should get in there, Emmanellain is likely dying to show you off after today.”

“I’m sure he would.” Cirene mused. “Are you sure you won’t join? I’d have you on my arm all night.” 

“All _evening_ ,” Haurchefant corrected. “I shall still have you all night.”

“Haurchefant!” Cirene smacked him in the chest; a rare blush bloomed across her cheeks. Haurchefant feigned injury at the playful blow with an exaggerated groan as he clutched his chest. 

“You wound me - O’ great warrior of light! To think you would strike down a knight most loyal to your radiance!”

“Ass.” She laughed. 

“You love it.” Haurchefant grinned.

“I do.” She squeezed his hand, and he left a kiss on her temple. She could drown in his kisses and never grow tired of them. They left the fire inside her that much brighter, giving her that much more of everything she needed. The chill didn’t feel nearly as biting as it had moments ago, and it made the party ahead of her seem much colder when she compared it to the moment she was in then.

“You should get to that party, my dear.” He whispered into the fur at the crux of her ear. 

“I know.” She replied with regret dripped freely in her voice.

“Afraid you’ll miss me?” 

She felt his smile on the edge of her ear; he already knew the answer. 

“No,” She lied, “but I’m sure your little brother is sorely missing the opportunity to parade me around.” 

“Ah yes, his coeurl and pony show. You’ll have to describe it to me when you return.” 

“In excruciating detail, I’m sure.” She replied. His laugh radiated from his chest as he turned her face to meet his in a farewell kiss.

She groaned as he pulled away and shooed her off to Durendaire Manor. Cirene caught a glimpse of him smiling at her as she walked away, and it made having to go both that much more comfortable and that much harder.

What was a gentle melody outside the manor was a boisterous one nearly drowned out by chatter within. The smell of mulled wine and roast beef wafted through the open grand hall, the central table stacked high with food and drink. Fruits and side dishes dotted the table amongst the more impressive roasts, and whole chickens rip for carving. A large, glittering ice sculpture of a bell held aloft by grand support beams refracted the lamplight that danced across its surface from the sconces that lined the wall. It was a packed house of Ishgard’s most well known, in full coats and beautiful gowns that would make even the nobility of Ul’dah envious. 

And to think, all of this occurring while people in the Brume starved. It made Cirene’s stomach churn. 

“There you are, old girl!” Emmanellain called out from a small grouping of nobles. His father, Edmont de Fortemps, was among the noblemen surrounding the youngest Fortemps son. The sight of the group amongst many made unknown irritability settle in Cirene’s stomach. Still, she made an effort to glide over towards the clique of nobles. 

“ _Young_ master Emmanellain, I take it you’re enjoying tonight’s festivities with your acquaintances?” Cirene asked, voice dripping in the honeyed pleasantries Artoirel had spent good money tutoring her in learning. 

“Please, old girl, just Master Emmanellain! I was regaling your trial exploits to everyone in here. Pray, allow me to introduce your newest fans...” 

Emmanellain prattled on the names of nobles Cirene didn’t care to remember. She was an unwilling player in a game of apparent political intrigue, something she’d never found the patience for in all of her time in Eorzea. Yet kisses on her calloused hands and polite curtsies simply happened these days. Actions she simply endured. 

They carried on in that fashion for some time, and Cirene gave polite nods and smiles when appropriate. A voice in the back of her mind nagged at her. _So much like that one night, isn’t it?_ Cirene’s smile started to slip. _A night to remembered and enjoyed, and yet._

The lord to Cirene’s left – was it Count Dzemael? Truthfully she couldn’t remember much of him outside of his suffocating cologne – began recalling what he had heard of the trial to the group when a butler arrived with a decanter of red wine and several glasses on a gilded platter. Between the cacophonous prattle of the partygoers and the overwhelming stench of ambergris and musk, Cirene couldn’t stomach the thought of a drink. 

_Oh, come on, can’t take a drink after watching a sultana nearly die from it? Such a coward, O’ Warrior of Light._

“Old girl,” Emmanellain started. “Is anything amiss? You look feverish.” 

_There could be poison in any glass, and yet you’re asking me about a fever?_

“Ah, sorry.” Cirene half-heartedly apologized. “I guess it’s just a touch warm.” 

“Might we get you a different beverage, Lady Dhoro? Some ice water?” Edmont commented with a hand raised to call the nearest servant. 

_Look at yourself. So weak, only good for water._

“No, thank you - Count Fortemps.” 

_Pathetic._

But a servant was already at her side with a variety of drinks set upon a platter. He rattled off a long list of beverages for her to choose from, but with each suggestion, Cirene felt herself become more and more irritated with each refusal.

“Or mayhap you would like something a beverage for the back? I’m sure we can mix something custom for the warrior of li-“ 

“For gods damn sakes, I don’t want a fucking drink!” 

In large majority, the rest of the party waged on around the Warrior of Light and her dumbstruck noble companions. Conversations across the manor roared on, and the melody then felt to Cirene like a deafening requiem of any respect the people around her might have had moments ago. Still, the alarmed expression of her patron within this foreign city was more than enough to damage her.

_Now you’ve done it._

“E-excuse me,” Cirene called out as she turned on her heel and made a straight shot for the front doors. Edmont Fortemps called after her in vain. His pleas lost in the sea of voices. Brisk winter air nipped at Cirene’s face and filled her lungs as she stormed out of the front doors. A welcome respite to the suffocating heat inside. Cirene considered making her way towards the Fortemps manor and straight to Haurchefant, but what she wanted more was to be alone. 

Maybe in being alone, she and those she cared about would be safe.

* * *

The fire popped between the two of them; Cirene’s eyes lazily regarded it as she rubbed the lip of her glass against her lips. The Crystal Exarch watched her as he wrung his hands in his lap. A part of him felt embarrassed for asking a question that prodded at an uncomfortable part of her past. He had known about the Fortemps patronage of the Warrior of Light thanks to the late Count’s memoirs, but there were blind spots to his perspective that caught the Exarch by surprise. The biggest one being her relationship with his bastard son.

“What did you do after you left?” He asked. 

“I did the only thing that felt comfortable; I went for a run.”

“A run?”

“Yep, I didn’t want to be around others. Standing still made me feel so... anxious,” Cirene replied. Her finger tapped the side of her glass as her eyes seemed to look somewhere in her memory. 

“...And the Fortemps?”

“Well, Emmanellain was sore about the whole thing for a few weeks. The pout he gave me every time I dropped by the manor was pitiful.” Cirene paused to take a sip of her drink. “Though I can’t say I blame him, my exit wasn’t polite nor graceful. Edmont tried to save my modesty but simply brushing it off the next day, and Artoirel didn’t care, or at least he didn’t let on that he did.” Her finger tapped the side of her glass before she spoke again. “And Haurchefant – gods bless him – told me there was nothing to be ashamed of as the great Warrior of Light.”

“It sounds like they handled it with grace, then.” The Exarch said, his mind stuck still on the bastard knight. Shouldn’t he have read this somewhere? Wouldn’t it be documented? 

“As well as most nobles could,” Cirene said with a smile. She set her glass back on the side table with a soft clack before reaching her arms above her head, stretching. “I hope that answered your ever nagging question of my aversion to parties, Exarch.”

“Ah! Well, yes, it did. But, ah...” He stumbled over his words as he felt her gaze look right through his hood, searching for noticeable features that lie in shadow. “I-I’m sorry that the question ended up being so intrusive.”

“Pah!” She laughed. “Don’t be. I agreed to this as much as you did. Although...” Cirene caught sight of the chronometer. “I think I ought to make my way back to the Pendants.”

“Yes, of course.” The Exarch rose from his seat, attempting yet failing to ignore the grating pain of his knees; a wince flashed across his face, but Cirene hadn’t seen it. “Allow me to walk with you; the night is lovely.”

Cirene rose from her seat and carried her drink and decanter to a nearby kitchen tray for the overnight staff. When she turned, the look in her eye seemed almost wistful to the Exarch, her thoughts once again caught in another time. It lasted only a moment before she flashed him a winning smile. 

“I would imagine it is, given it's the first in a century.” She replied politely. 

Their footsteps echoed on the wooden decks of the Whispering Gallery, the flowing waters of the aqua gardens tricking undertow before giving way to the chorus of the crickets that greeted them at the exedra. The air was cold; a slight breeze played in the tresses of Cirene’s hair. If he had thought the firelight was enchanting on her hair, the wash of moonlight over her was tenfold. The white light gave the lilac-like qualities of her hair ghostly highlights and lowlights before fading into shadow at the tips. Yet the purple hints within her hair remained, and instead shimmered and reflected the starlight above like pearls glitter just below the water’s surface. 

_Nearly lilac, yet something brighter._

In between the noise of the night, the two of them were silent. However, unlike the air they suffered between them at the beginning of the night, this one was one that was comfortably familiar. It echoed of fading sunsets over Mor Dhona, colleagues swapping campfire stories over mulled wine and hastily constructed sandwiches, all punctuated by bells of laughter long-held shut behind the large gold doors they passed even now a whole star away. 

Even when her voice punctuated silence or sound – he always listened, reveling in being considered a friend to someone so beloved by everyone. 

The weight of it gave the Exarch pause in his mind. In all of his sacrifice, had he not dreamt of having this again? He knew the stakes at hand. He knew that at the end of all of this, he needed to be a faceless enigma that bears the first’s light when Cirene was no longer able. _It’ll be easier to say goodbye to a new friend._ He had told himself. _Easier to let you save them._ Yet still, an easy smile played on his lips, his body at ease as they approached the Pendants. He wasn’t entirely the Crystal Exarch at that moment. G’raha Tia slipped out just enough to bask in her glory.

_I don’t want to leave._

“Tell me, Exarch.” Cirene demanded, her easy voice cutting through the storm in his mind as they passed through the threshold of the Pendants. "Why were you looking for me tonight?” 

A blush crept up onto his face, the Exarch grateful for the protection of his hood. 

“Ah, yes, well. I simply wanted to make sure you were enjoying your victory, ‘twas hard-fought.” 

“Mm.” Cirene hummed in agreement. She waved at the innkeeper at the desk before turning towards the Exarch. “At any rate, I appreciate you looking out for me.” 

“Of course.” He replied. He lingered there for a moment before remembering that he needed to take his leave. 

“Right, this is where I leave you.” He started. “Rest well, my friend, tomorrow is a new day, and we have light wardens to hunt.” 

“That we do, but be sure to catch some sleep as well. Even leaders need a break.” She replied. Cirene knocked his shoulder gently with her fist before turning on her heel and ascending the stairs towards her apartment. The Exarch waited at the bottom of the steps until she turned around a corner and out of sight. 

_Sweet dreams_. He thought, as the Exarch finally pulled himself away and back towards his tower.

* * *

Ardbert didn’t linger long in her room after they discussed the past and future of the first. Truthfully, Cirene wasn’t used to his ghostly presence. If she were frank, Cirene wasn’t sure how she felt about the idea that he could arrive at any moment unannounced and walk in on something she’d rather he not see. 

Though now that she thought about it, it _would_ be funny.

Embarrassing imagined scenarios aside, Cirene marveled at the night sky that glittered outside her apartment window. In the few months she had been here, Cirene discovered how much she adored the quiet of the night. It was time for her to relax, to shed off armor both physically and mentally, to find peace and think about home – wherever that may be at the time.

_“Is this not your home for the time being?”_

Cirene worried at her bottom lip with her teeth. There was the problem of him, the Crystal Exarch. From the moment he had bounded through Lakeland to greet her at her arrival, Cirene knew he was hiding something. Outside of his appearance, there was something in how he spoke, how he withheld words behind uncomfortable silences. Or in his all too enthusiastic reactions whenever she reacted with positivity in any way about her current predicament.

_What are you hiding?_

Cirene left the shudders as they were and turned to her wardrobe to change into a cotton camisole and matching shorts. With a quick adjustment to the dial near her door, she lowered the lamps a barely-there glow, just enough to cast shadows along the walls and ceiling. 

Her thoughts nagged her. The Exarch’s attitude another matter entirely. It was like he walked on eggshells around her. Was he afraid to upset her? In her first weeks, she had been ornery but far from a delicate nature that needed to be swaddled in favors. 

Cirene dotted several drops of oil in her hand before running her fingers through her hair and up her ears. The smell of cloves and vanilla coated her hair like a blanket as she took a soft bristle brush to her knots. 

_Why do you coddle me?_

Was it her newfound status as this star’s Warrior of Darkness? He knew going into the fight with the first lightwarden that she would be able to handle the burst of light. It was no surprise to him, and when she looked at him after the battle, his smile had been the widest. The Crystal Exarch was five steps ahead, and that bothered her. 

_What aren’t you telling me?_

Cirene shook the sheets loose from their tightly tucked corners before slipping between them. Five steps ahead, delicate treatment, a hidden appearance. If in switched roles, why would she be doing these things? Would she do all of these things for a total stranger, even if they were here to save the star? 

_Maybe?_

Cirene turned onto her side and let her gaze settle back on the window full of stars. A man so powerful he arrived with the tower itself. And yet there was no G’raha tia to be found, at least, by the Crystal Exarch’s account. A man with the entire weight of the Allagan legacy on his shoulders, and she is to believe G’raha tia is gone? 

_No_. 

The chronometer ticked away on the wall in her small kitchenette, the sound of crickets pulling Cirene down into sleep. Eyes drifted close, but one lasting thought remained, the only hypothesis that made sense.

_I know you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeehaw! Look at that, chapter one is finally out! I've got some good stuffed planned for this one so I hope you stick with me through it! Chapter 2 is in revisions now so I hope to have that out soon. Want to chat about the fic and hang out with some great fans, readers, and authors? [ Come join the book club!](https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic)
> 
> Until next time, have a good one!


	2. Once Everlasting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Eulmorean emissary approaches, igniting a suppressed memory.

Morning brought ill tidings in its wake. The city was abuzz with preparations for battle; that much was clear from the mechanical whirling and stern commands that echoed past Cirene’s apartment. A leisurely breakfast would be a luxury for another time, which made her lips form a decided pout as she padded over to her dresser. Cirene made quick work of fastening her gear in place. Muscle memory brought to life in clicking buckles and taught fabric.

_I know you._

Cirene frowned once more, her gaze staring past her reflection in the mirror. If the Crystal Exarch indeed was who she assumed he was, it drew more questions than answers. Concealing his identity, his overall plan for the first, what remains of the G’raha Tia from the first; why keep it all a secret? She knew that G’raha Tia could scheme, but in the past, she had always felt it was out of boyish self-interest. To hide your plans for how you will save an entire star; that was a bit beyond the G’raha Tia she knew.

Then again, she hadn’t known him long before he shut himself away in the tower. A bitter pill she swallowed long ago.

Those months spent with NOAH were at the height of her success and felt decades away rather than several years. Fresh off of the heels of the Ultima weapon’s destruction, her arrival was made in part on personal favor for Cid. His pleas for her aid in strengthening morale with her newfound celebrity was easy enough for her to accommodate in the quiet months leading up to the red banquet in Ul’Dah. Unbeknownst to Cirene, she would prove to be another ideal workhorse and, in turn, lead her through a rather annoying escapade collecting sand.

Still, that was when G’raha Tia made his briefest entrance into her life. Arrogance fit him like a glove, though girls around the NOAH camp mistook it for roguish charm. Cirene might have believed it if she hadn’t seen how he tripped over himself in battle. A novice, she noted then, and one who was far more comfortable reading about adventurers than being one – pity.

Cirene worked as the last fastening of her leather pauldron while she stewed. There was a myriad of options ahead of her, none of them particularly appealing. Coming right out and accusing him was an option. However, revealing her hand now would be a fool’s errand, and it didn’t take a politician to see that. She could tell her comrades, though each of their machinations scattered them across the realm, what good would it do?

_Fuck it. I need to focus._

A carbon steel axe leaned the door frame in wait, the metal singing as she grabbed it on her exit. The empty Pendant halls echoed the decided clack of her shoes. She could poke away at her conspiracy later when war wasn’t approaching the Crystarium’s doorstep. Brow furrowed, Cirene took a deep breath before stepping out into the buzzing city.

Her assumption was astute. Workers and guards flitted about the place with arms and supplies in tow. Mechanical whirlings from the city’s perimeter hinted at the artillery preparation for potential battles ahead. Combined with the shouts and hurried boots on pavement, Cirene’s ears twitched.

 _So loud_.

The most she could hope for, at least, would be the silence that waited for her up in the Ocular, where her next missive awaited.

* * *

Eulmore had a habit of kicking off war with as much tact as a bull in an apothecary's shop. The Exarch didn’t kid himself when it came to Vauthry’s thinly-veiled ambassador missive – he meant to invade. He and his forefathers had a fascination with the tower and its secrets, most of all how it managed to keep sin eaters at bay, an area they struggled with until Vauthry’s birth. They would be sorely disappointed, given that much of the credit should go to the guard itself; the tower only provided the means.

Regardless of their curiosity, at the core of it lie a lust for power. To control the Crystarium would be the domination of all of Norvrandt, the shining beacon at its center with veins that reached the floodgates surrounding them.However, as long as the Exarch remained, Eulmore’s light would never touch the tower or its people. The mere idea of it made his blood boil.

 _Belligerent fool._

The tower thrummed in the Exarch’s eardrums, keenly aware of his mounting anxiety of the emissary that made his way to the Ocular. Ran’jit was a military man, not one meant for peaceful talks. Once, the Exarch might have described him as noble, a man with an indomitable purpose. But the sands of time were unkind, leaving him drowned in blind faith and thinly-veiled regret. A pity, indeed.

Still, the message sent late in the night announced only his arrival – nothing more. Something so plain didn’t set the Exarch into a frenzy, though it did set him to plan. Crystarium scouts reported the recapture of Minfilia along the border of Lakeland, which the emissary would no doubt keep close to his chest. Strange that there was no report of her caretaker, and chances were he was skulking her captors’ camps. Of what little he knew of Thancred, the Exarch was sure of his devotion. Adoration and agony seeped out of the highlander the moment he first laid eyes on the First’s Minfilia. All of which masked behind a cold stare and rigid indifference. Death was sure to follow in his wake to find her, along with all of the other delicate mechanisms between the Crystarium and Eulmore that have yet to pass. 

“Have you told her about Minfilia yet?” Alphinaud whispered, carefully stepping up to the Exarch as he stared into the Ocular’s visage of LaxanLoft with broken concentration. Alisaie idled with her rapier; thoughts already leagues away as she checked for any vulnerabilities in the blade. The Exarch’s gaze narrowed.

“No, I haven’t informed Cirene either.” He answered flatly, strategy would have to resume later.

Alphinaud hummed to himself before he turned on his heel – thinking. The Exarch could only guess at his thoughts, perhaps considering if he should’ve informed his sister ahead of time. Regardless, the withheld information would reveal itself in due time. 

Wood and iron creaked alive as one of the guards led the Warrior of Darkness into the Ocular. Cirene’s pace was brisk, the gait decisive as her boots clicked on the crystalline floor. A smile ghosted her lips but for a moment before sliding into a smirk.

“Morning,” She started, “who am I going to war with today?”

The Exarch’s smile grew wider than he liked, his pleasure with her eagerness plain as day.

“Good morning. You‘ve come at a good time. As you may have heard, we have something of a quandary on our hands.”

His gaze turned back to the Ocular’s projection.

“Laxan Loft, here in Lakeland. Eulmore has sent one of its airships. They have questions for us concerning the death of the Lightwarden. Their emissary makes his way here even as we speak.”

Cirene’s eyebrows quirked as she pouted. Whether she was unimpressed or irritated with the news was unclear.

“I suppose the sky does give the game away.” Alisaie quipped.

“Indeed.” The Exarch frowned. “‘Twas inevitable that they would come knocking. The only question was how soon.”

Firm knocks echoed from the door, with Lyna’s clear voice calling out after it.

“My Lord, I have come with the Eulmoran emissary. May I show him in?”

The Exarch turned, his lips formed a decided frown.

“A moment, Captain. If you would.”

Dismissing Laxan Loft's visage from the Ocular, The Exarch turned his attention back to Cirene and her comrades.

“Everyone, gather round.” He commanded. The Exarch felt the tower linger on the edge of his aether, curious. Magic was always skirting around him, waiting for the chance to pull and claim the spoken parts of him that remained. A small price to pay for power.

“I do not wish to show our hand prematurely. Forgive me this liberty.”

With a decisive wave of his staff and a command word spoken from his lips, the tower and his aether came alight. Oxblood red aether blanketed the three before him, cloaking their own in his like a disguise. The twins’ juxtaposing navy and ruby aethers did so willingly, but Cirene’s caught him off guard. Velvety purple aether slithered out to reach his, a probing question. Without a thought, the Exarch’s aether clung desperately to hers for a moment as it brightened to a brilliant crimson – an answer.

_I’m here._

* * *

Preparations came together fast, as they are apt to during war. Though if Cirene were asked, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to recount any commands Lyna left her with throughout the morning. Muscles moved as her brain instructed, any new information retained somewhere back in her mind. The lineage of Minfilias, sleep powder antidotes, amaros; all of it rattled away in her brain as notes to consult before the battle.

_It’s you,_

The moment stuck to her like honey dribbled onto skin; sticky, sweet, and lingering. Crimson red that reveled in their contact before slinking away as quickly as it arrived. There was no doubt what it meant, yet it still made Cirene’s ears twitch. When she opened her eyes, the sight of the Exarch’s pressed finger to his lips greeted her. Double meaning – duplicitous.

_G’raha Tia._

“Mistress Dhoro?”

“Hmm?” Cirene regarded the Amaro keeper with a glazed-over expression, to which he responded with a furrowed brow and a frown.

“I said, are you ready to head towards fort Jobb?”

Cirene idled, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

“Oh, right. Ah, give me a few. I’m missing something.” She lied.

Turning on her heel, Cirene left the amaros behind her, the grumbling of the disgruntled keeper left in her wake. Lyna and the twins already made their way to the fort, leaving the last preparations at the Crystarium. What little remained was the calm before the storm. Cannons and shields were in place should need the arise, leaving the entire city eerily quiet amongst the meal runners and guard.

Decided feet carried her through the Exedra towards the Pendants —pressure built behind her eyes, the beginning of a migraine at the edges of her brain. The excuse of a forgotten essential was a stall for time. What thoughts were there to collect? She was no aetherologist, but there was little doubt about his identity. Only one soul she’d come across had an aether so red, vibrant and steadfast.

* * *

“Cid, honestly, are you so preoccupied that you couldn’t collect sand yourself?” Cirene asked as she thumped a bag of aethersand onto the table.

The NOAH camp that sat a mere three-quarter malm from the Syrcus Tower was alight with activity. History lies behind the enchanted pillars that kept mankind from approaching the tower. With Garlamald at bay for the time being and one of the most brilliant engineers available to help investigate, the time couldn’t be more perfect.

“Regular work beneath you these days, eh Cirene?” He half-chided. While she was quick, Cirene had a knack for complaining that could grate even the most patient of engineers.

“No, but couldn’t you have sent some bodyguards with Biggs and Wedge? The two of them could’ve done it with some extra hands.”

Cirene fiddled with the ends of her hair that tumbled onto her shoulders, longer than Cid remembered it being since last they met.

“You’re correct. That’s where you came in.”

A shite-eating grin would be a polite interpretation of the smile Cid gave Cirene. Arms folded under her chest, Cirene’s bottom lip pushed forward into an irritated pout. Defender of Eorzea, Warrior of Light, Pride of Ul’dah; registered to an errand girl under the thumb of the chief engineer of Garlond Ironworks.

“So it was all a joke then?”

Cid peered up from his schematics, eyes bored, and glassy.

“No, but you could certainly learn how to take one if it were.”

She stuck her tongue out at him then, intolerant of the constant teasing. She wasn’t sure if it was the remnants of Garlamald or his true nature that gave him a knack for giving her a hard time, even if it were all in jest. Across camp, the telltale blur of crimson hair dashed from the mess tent to a fallen pillar surrounded by open books.

“And of that one?” She asked, chin tipping forward in the Miqo’tes direction. “Is he a joke as well?”

“Ha! No, he is the real deal straight from the Val. Supposedly he outshines even Alphinaud in terms of knowledge.”

“Oh? Well, our little lord is less amused with study these days, a bit too into politics.”

A gaggle of researchers left the mess tent shortly after the young historian, one of them searching the grounds until she caught sight of the redhead. Blood rushed to the woman’s cheeks when she found him, her colleagues nudging her with grins on their faces. Cirene could only imagine the gossip forming within the group as the blushing researcher walked steadfastly towards her heart’s desire.

“G’raha Tia,” Cirene said out loud, testing the name on her tongue. It took some effort not to overemphasize the first syllable in his name, a byproduct from her childhood in Golmore.

“‘Tis his name,” Cid responded, pen scratching out an annotated note in his diagrams of the guardian pillars spread on the table.

The researcher’s feign confidence seemed to dwindle the more she approached him, posture rigid and steps robotic. G’raha tia seemed not to notice, his attention so completely absorbed by the tomes around him that he barely paid his food any mind. Only when the researcher spoke did he snap out of his trance, mismatched eyes dazed by the interruption.

Something in their exchange didn’t pan out how the researcher had wanted, as her face became beet as she spat out a rushed response before turning on her heel to return to her friends; her shoulder slumped. G’Raha tia blinked, lips parted and brow knit in confusion.

_He’s either an idiot or naive – or both, I guess._

“I’ll talk to you later, Cid.”

With his hummed acknowledgment and a half-committed wave, Cirene crossed the camp at a leisurely pace.

* * *

This time of day was always lively as NOAH members took their leave from their work to mingle and catch a meal. G’raha tia, however, took his work wherever he went.

“Breaking hearts, G’raha Tia?”

Cirene’s voice sliced through his concentration; the emphasis on the “G’r” in his name sent a shiver down his spine. Blood pooled in his cheeks as he replayed her saying his name in his mind. Something about it caught a lump in his throat.

The sight of her nearly knocked him over like it had the first time he watched her fend off hounds in search for the aethersand he stole. Krile had warned him that everyone claimed the Warrior of Light was a beauty, but to truly see her and her power firsthand was awe-inspiring, something he had to witness in action to appreciate genuinely. To say the effect had worn off on him would be a lie. She was a hero in the flesh, radiant, proud, and mystifying.

“I-I’m sorry, what?” He replied, fumbling with his fork before it clattered onto his crowded plate.

“That girl, she likes you.” Cirene tipped her head towards the researcher who had approached him moments earlier, asking if he’d like company while he lunched.

He’d replied honestly, stating that he was busy working through the early recorded histories of the Syrcus tower and would make for poor conversation. The woman pressed the matter, saying she didn’t mind if he regaled her with his findings, to which he stated she could read about his findings in his research notes that he posted to the company board every two days.

“Oh. Truly? She’d just ask to sit with me.”

“Gods, you’re daft. You turned her down; I take it?” Cirene remarked, moving some books from the pillar to the ground to take a seat next to him. Her thick white fending coat stood out in stark contrast to the gold embellishments of her armored arms and boots. As she settled into her seat, Cirene crossed her legs; the telltale crocheted lacework and garters of her viera lineage peaked out from under the coat’s fabric. G’raha’s throat tightened as he swallowed his indecency and raked his eyes back up to her freckled face.

“Ah, well, I’m not exactly interesting to sit next to while I study.”

“True, enough.” She quipped as she scanned the campsite, hands politely folded in her lap.

Krile had also warned him that the Warrior of Light was known for her blunt nature, outside of her willingness to help others. Minfilia had regarded it to her with a fond laugh and smile during one of her visits to Val, noting that she was a perfect companion for the increasingly dry Y’shtola. Still, Cirene’s boldness made him flinch, a punch to his ego that cut deeper than he would admit if she asked.

“Still,” Cirene started, “she did find you interesting, knowing full well what she would get herself into. You should go talk to her.”

Rejection. Was that the hurt that twitched G’raha’s mouth into a frown, eyebrows knitting like a greedy child? No, rejection would imply that Cirene felt anything for him at all. Disappointment was a better word for it, a bitterness that danced across his face with bravado.

“Perhaps another time,” G’raha answered her, his hands needlessly fidgeting with the bracelets and bracers on his forearms. Cheeks red and embarrassed with his sudden sheepish nature; weakness.

“Suit yourself.”

Her voice was dry, cold, distant. Thoughts preoccupied elsewhere as an elegant hand came up to brush a stray hair out of her face.

“Tell me,” She started yet again, an unknown emotion played in her voice that G’raha couldn’t quite place. “Do you know a Y’shtola Rhul?”

“I don’t know her personally, no. However, my mentor has mentioned her in passing before. Why do you ask?”

Cirene tapped a book at their feet with her boot.

“She was reading this last time I saw her. When I asked her about it, she shrugged it off as idle fancy. What’s it about?”

G’raha pulled the book from the small stack, the leather cover well worn from its heavy use and request travels.

“Ah, Aetherial Convergence and the Synchronicity of the Lifestream Hypothesis.”

“The what now?”

“It’s an aetherology book, a study on how aether and the lifestream can impact our day to day and its historical significance.”

Cirene regarded him with a cocked eyebrow. A science barely understood, but something the students of Baldesion made a point of studying. Maybe he could hold her interest in this one way.

“Would you like to read it? You can borrow it for a few days.” He asked, erasing any trace of dejection with an easy smile and bright eyes. Cirene laughed from deep in her chest. A shake in her shoulders that brought the otherwise stone-like warrior physique to life.

Several researchers across the camp looked up from their lunch towards the two of them. G’raha felt the nagging jitter of his pulse quicken, an anxiety of eyes on him. Yet a bolder, confident part of him demanded he not care. Laughter like that could inspire a nation, and yet she laughed for a greenhorn historian.

_I want to make you laugh again._

“I’m flattered you think I read, truly,” She chuckled, “but I like experiencing things. Unless I can do that, it’s a no from me.”

“Technically, my friend, you could.” He replied with a cocky smile plastered on his face. He could show her. Krile or Moenbryda were better teachers in this area, but that didn’t mean G’raha knew nothing. Rumor around camp had it that Cirene was blessed with the echo, making her naturally sensitive to aether and its flow. Impressing her with a parlor trick in aether reading would preen him well enough. Enough to be interesting to her, in the least.

“Ah, so we’re friends now.” She noted, amused.“Well then, my friend, what do you suggest? Going to bore me to death over lunch tomorrow with your notes?”

“Nothing of the sort. Find me after dinner tonight, and I’ll explain it at length. Think of it as an experiment.”

Cirene smiled. Skepticism plain on her face as she looked at him, but for a moment, G’raha could swear there was something else. Amusement? There was no way to be sure, but something about it made him want to tug that emotion out in full. Every complexity of her, every feeling – he wanted all of it.

With a quick nod, Cirene was on her feet. Hands reached toward the sky as she stretched, bouncing on the balls of her feet. At release, She turned back to him, flashing a genuine smile.

“I’ll be there, so long as you ditch your lunch and go talk to that girl.”

Resignation puffed out as a sigh from his lips, but if it pleased her...

“Yes, yes, don’t be –”

* * *

“– Late?”

The Exarch’s steady voice snapped Cirene back from her memory. She’d made it to the Pendants, alarming the apartment keeper who undoubtedly wasn’t expecting her back so soon. Linens stripped from the bed piled on the floor as her laundry was collected, the room reset to her liking as if she stayed in the finest inn in Eorzea.

A half-hearted explanation she couldn’t remember had placated the man long enough to give her a moment of quiet peace. Her migraine was screaming before quickly receding, the imagined sounds of crackling releasing the pressure in her skull. Odd.

The return path back to the amaro keeper had been ambling at best, lost in thought. It wasn’t until G’rah- no, the Exarch, called out did she notice just how aimless she’d been and ended up stalling on the Crystalline Mean.

“Sorry? I wasn’t listening.”

“I asked if you were running late to Fort Jobb. Captain Lyna left some time ago with the twins. I assumed you weren’t far behind.”

“Oh, right, that. Ahm.” Fuzzy, perplexing feelings danced in the fog of her mind, heat rising to her cheeks before turning and squaring her shoulders and stance to hide her face.

_Why am I embarrassed?_

“You’re right; I am running late. I forgot my earring in the Pendants and wished to retrieve it. Materia and all that.”

_Flippant. Unconvincing. He’d buy it for now, right?_

“Oh, I’ll send advanced word that you’re running behind.” The Exarch noted, voice calm and matter-a-fact as one would expect of a city leader during a time of crisis.

“Thank you. I’ll head straight there.” The words came out more curt than she realized, a blade’s edge thinly dulled by pleasantries. A hint of concern manifested in the Exarch’s slight frown. His spoken hand reached out before stopping just short of grabbing her forearm as she turned to face him.

“My friend, I don’t want you to feel as if you are without aid.”

He paused for a moment as his hand fumbled with a pocket in his robes, fishing out a new link pearl. 

“Should anything arise during your mission and run into trouble, please don’t hesitate to contact me. ‘Tis a private channel, so you may speak freely as if you were speaking to me alone.”

Brief contact with his spoken hand as he past her the link pearl make her heart race, unexpected and anxious. Link pearls always felt good in her fingers; the smooth surface sating her energy when she felt overexcited. Curious that he would have a private set made.

_Convenient. This feels like the type of ploy you’d play._

“Thank you again, Exarch. I’ll keep it in mind, but with my luck, I shouldn’t need it.” Lying confidence invaded her body as she straighten her posture and flashed a winning hero’s smile.

“Until next time.” She declared, and with a wave over her shoulder – she was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thanks for giving chapter 2 a read! I hope you enjoyed it and will keep coming back as I post chapters. I didn’t expect chapter 2 to take so long to edit, but I ended up restructuring right before I was going to publish it the first time. Whoopsies. Chapter 3 is in the works now and I’m about halfway through it, so feeling confident I can get it out shortly. 
> 
> Anyways, have a good one! Let me know what you think in the comments!

**Author's Note:**

> Want to chat about the fic and hang out with some great fans, readers, and authors? [ Come join the book club!](https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic)


End file.
